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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120667">Nowhere to Go But Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyoftheVoid/pseuds/MelodyoftheVoid'>MelodyoftheVoid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Forged Identities [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Invader Zim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hair Braiding, He's struggling, Healing, It's Zib, Kinda, Look I am proud of his design so, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rebuilding, Small Towns, eventually, for fun, the prince gets a real job™, y'all know the deal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:13:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyoftheVoid/pseuds/MelodyoftheVoid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's difficult to start again, but Zib was... experienced with nigh impossible tasks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Forged Identities [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Journey Begins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Zib woke up in an actual bed. Which didn’t immediately alarm him until he remembered where he’d woken up for the last few months. Where he was supposed to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t his cell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where- where was he? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zib shot up, crying out as his head pounded in agony from the sudden movement. He did his best to keep his breathing even to ride out the wave of pain; once it’d faded though, he almost wished it hadn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A room, plain and undecorated, if not incredibly dusty. Very much not the dingy, dim cell that Zib had spent the better part of several months inside. He checked his wrists for any bindings, finding none he examined his legs. Nothing out of the ordinary. That ruled out the possibility of an abduction, which meant… logically speaking… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That he’d broken out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t possible, he would’ve remembered planning something like that, let alone executing a successful escape. Zib clutched at his hair, sleep hazed mind still struggling to catch up with reality. He went to stand, to look around his new surroundings in the hope of finding clues, only for his legs to give out on him completely, muscles screaming in agony. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pain brought back flashes of fear, of fleeing from an enemy that he could never outpace, and it clicked. He wanted to scream, but didn’t know how close any other civilization was. He, the fool that he was, had fled imprisonment under the impression that it was all nothing but another round of night terrors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gaz was going to put his head on a fucking pike. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Genuine fear filled him at that thought. No doubt by now the news of his… departure… had spread far and wide, search parties scouring the land for a hint of his whereabouts. Gaz was no doubt furious, more than ready to turn over every inch of the kingdom to exact painful, </span>
  <em>
    <span>painful, </span>
  </em>
  <span>vengeance upon him. To say nothing of Zim, or the rest of the Irken empire’s plans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gods his voice sounded awful, but then again, there wasn’t much that wasn’t wretched about him right now. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t very well go </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the place even if he knew which direction he’d come from. What would that conversation even be? Zib let out a dry laugh, picturing the bewildered guard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes sorry about the inconvenience, I won’t break out again I promise. Right. That sounds perfect.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he was lucky they’d just kill him on the spot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of all the things he could’ve done, an accidental jailbreak had to be one of them. Just throw that onto his pile of poorly if at all thought out ideas. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With some effort, Zib crawled back onto the bed, once more at a complete and total loss for where to go next. He’d never see his family again, that was a given. Zib barely remembered what happened when panic had fueled his magic, so the likelihood that the letters he’d worked so hard to compose would never see their recipients was almost certain. Any sympathy or understanding there was lost for good. Not to mention that he was entirely alone now. There was no brother to offer support or aid, no regular meals, he had truly nothing and no one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The simple fact was that he now had two options: adapt to the situation or roll over and die. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And despite the gods awful state of his mind as of late, he wanted, selfish as it may be, to live. He wanted to live. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was his only wish. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But now what?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, first things first, he had to figure out food. And water. Exploring his new surroundings would probably help as well considering. He really hoped no one actually lived here and hadn’t visited for a long time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a handful of false starts, Zib managed to get onto his feet and walk, step by painful step, out of the bedroom, and take in his surroundings. The house was a simple place, albeit worn down and left abandoned for quite some time. A handful of books sat on the shelf, some chairs crowded around a table with a thin cloth atop it. His stomach let out an unhelpful growl, pushing him toward the cabinets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, there was… something in the cupboards. Some bags of jerky, dried fruits, nothing substantial but certainly a more preferable option than starvation. Further examination found flour, what looked like mixed grains, and a lump that might’ve at one point resembled a loaf of bread. Wonderful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, Zib ate a handful of the jerky, grateful that his months in prison had lessened his general appetite enough that he could make this supply of food last. He sat at the table, contemplating the silence. It wasn’t like the quiet of his study, solitude in an every bustling building. Nor was it like his cell, empty and devoid of life, a void from which no hope escaped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps that was a touch melodramatic, but waxing poetic was as much of a passtime for Zib as reading or ruining his own life. He hadn’t exactly had many people to talk to honestly so he had only his thoughts to keep him company. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Regardless it was… a comfortable silence here. One he could, in theory, get used to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Zib’s gaze landed on a broom in the corner, collecting dust like the rest of the house. That was a good next step. The sensation of stepping onto the floor was unpleasant given the fact he both had no shoes and that there was at least 3 months worth of accumulated… whatever that was on the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next few hours were a cycle of clearing a small portion, then collapsing exhausted onto a chair, letting his muscles relax for a time, then pushing himself back up and starting again. He despised how quickly he got tired, how quickly his lungs heaved after the slightest exertion. Then again he’d run however many miles after doing nothing but pacing the floor of his six step by seven step room. The fact he could move at all is a miracle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the room no longer looked entirely abandoned, not terrible but certainly nowhere he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>choose</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stay given the option. Zib laughed, contrasting the state of this place with the palace he’d once called home. He kept laughing, the irony just piling on until it turned to a bitter ache that proceeded to pour from him in soft sobs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a grief without direction or form, one he knew the cause of, but refused to acknowledge until it overtook him completely. Regardless he missed what he had. He did. He missed having his books, his study, the food, the palace, his status, his family, that was who he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His whole world, his identity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stop- he had to stop this. There wasn’t any use in dwelling, he’d done enough of that in his cell. Zib just needed to- to focus on the next thing he had to do. Survival was the focus here. Not the past. What came next… right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This deep in the wilderness, there was likely a well somewhere nearby, or a river, some sort of creek. Whoever lived here needed water to get by. Now all he had to do was go and find it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zib opened the door to the cabin, then immediately slammed it shut, the feeling of ever present eyes boring holes into his soul. He slumped against the door trying to slow his spiking heartbeat. His hands shook and trembled as his traitorous brain yet again insisted on making him as miserable as humanly possible, paranoia taking up poisonous root. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What if they knew? Or someone had tracked him to this location, waiting for him to leave before they pounced? Zib’s hands tangled in his hair, and it clicked. Of course. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Even those who’d never seen the royal family in person knew about the so-called “Membrane Hair”. Once, he and Dib had wanted to sneak out of the castle, and so they’d cut their hair, just to get past the guards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’d grown back the next morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no logical explanation for how that’d happened, but the fact remained that his general… appearance had to be changed. Unless he wanted to dedicate a hole in the ground for his hair, he’d have to just deal with it. A piece of loose twine on the counter nearby caught his eye. That could work… He just needed to remember how to plait. The glasses and the scars would raise red flags in a major city, sure, but he hadn’t exactly interacted with the people much while he- while his appearance changed, so word likely wouldn’t be out this far about many of the finer details. Wherever he was. If he even saw another person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For all he knew this was the only human made structure for miles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zib peered out the window, out into the dense foliage just outside of the small plot of cleared land. Smoke, in neat lines, rose from the tree line, in the direction of a beaten path. That answered that question he supposed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pulling the offending scythes down, Zib squinted at the hair. He could figure this out. If he could do this, he could go to the well for water. He could go to town. A yawn escaped his mouth unbidden. Maybe not today though. His attention drifted back to the fading light filtering through the window. He wasn’t going to get anything else done today in all likelihood. It was probably for the best that he sleep more, </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One step at a time. Just. One painful step at a time. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. New Surroundings and New Identities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Supplies are needed, surroundings are explored, and a new sense of self is found.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning began with a similar start to the first, alarm at the fact he was in a cabin and not a dingy cell replaced by the realization of the fact he’d essentially forced himself to start at square one by complete accident, then resignation. The panic only lasting around half as long as the inability to really move was a nice bonus. </p><p> </p><p>At the very least the overwhelming ache was happening while he had a decent bed rather than a cot. It was the small things. </p><p> </p><p>Zib pushed himself up to a sitting position, the last few brief flashes of indistinct nightmares fading into nothing as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He took stock of his current situation again, running through what he needed to do next. He needed to find water, ideally a running source. He needed to find a reliable source of food. He had to figure out a reasonable way to hide his identity, and once he did that he had to go into town. Probably find a… job. </p><p> </p><p>Needing money, what a strange concept. </p><p> </p><p>But first things were first though, he needed some food. </p><p> </p><p>The stash of nuts quelled the ache in his stomach, one relief out of the litany of taste ahead. Zib looked to the door again, mocking him with its innocence. How could such a simple thing like a door cause him to panic like this? He just wanted to go outside, and yet- </p><p> </p><p>Yet the fear of further punishment, of being seen despite the fact the likely wasn’t anyone close by to even <em> see </em> him, still clawed at him. Maybe- if he could just figure out how to hide his hair, that would be enough. It would probably be enough. </p><p> </p><p>Probably. </p><p> </p><p>Combing his fingers through the strands, he tried to remember how to braid in the first place. He’d only attempted once, when Gaz demanded that her hair be left alone before a function, what it was exactly escaped him. King Membrane sent him to ‘talk sense into her’, and after some argument she agreed that she would dress up. Only if he was the one to do her hair. Zib could still recall her instructing him, curt and no nonsense. Left over center, then right over center, the motion simple but oddly soothing. </p><p> </p><p>The left side was more of a struggle, but somehow he managed to wrangle all of it back. Zib set a hand on the top of his head, shock and sadness mixing in as yet another piece of who he was was hidden away. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t look like Dib anymore. He now no longer even looked like his father. He was as certain as he could be that he didn’t. There weren’t any mirrors in the house, nor would there ever be to check. Although that would require him to have any money to purchase a mirror. </p><p> </p><p>Was it enough to hide his identity though? </p><p> </p><p>Zib’s leg bounced, calling his attention to the overall state of his clothes. Great, another problem. His ragged prison garments were not threadbare, but obviously just that. A prisoner’s uniform. A sign that a guard would need to be alerted and he would have to go back he needed to find something else now- No. No, water was key, he needed to find that, paranoia be damned. </p><p> </p><p>Zib could let himself fall to pieces once he had his basic needs. Then maybe he could prolong his agony. That was perhaps a touch over morbid, still it made him wheeze out a laugh. </p><p> </p><p>Taking a deep breath, Zib made his way to the door, forcing himself to keep moving even as the fear grew greater. Before he knew it the door swung open revealing… Nothing. Just a clearing, surrounded by lush forest. The scent of fresh pine and earth filled the air, faint bird song breaking the harsh silence. It was a beautiful day. </p><p> </p><p>He was outside, and he was… okay. His nerves still buzzed with energy, the fear not quite leaving, but diminishing enough that he could move. </p><p> </p><p>Zib took a step forward, then another, marveling at the feeling of just. Feeling again. Being out of a prison, metaphorical or otherwise, and having a small taste of freedoms he’d long missed. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually the pleasant warmth of the sun turned judgemental and harsh, the urgency to return to the relative safety of the cabin twisting the shadows to seem more harsh, as though they were hiding some enemy. </p><p> </p><p>Or enemies. </p><p> </p><p>Best to get a move on. </p><p> </p><p>The yard around the cabin was overgrown, a small fenced in area full of… vegetables? He was fairly certain that those were edible plants, which was fortunate. It’d seen better days but it was usable from what he could tell. Near it was a well, in a similar shabby state yet it looked usable enough. It could be worse. </p><p> </p><p>All things genuinely considered, he was lucky that he had this to work with.  Stupidly lucky in fact. </p><p> </p><p>Yet as though the universe thought he was starting to feel confident in his chances for survival, the well,l upon closer examination, was near useless. The bucket propped up next to the winch, half of a rope flapping uselessly in the wind. </p><p> </p><p>The sound of water could be heard sure, but what good was it without a functioning rope? A tantalizing hope just barely out of reach. Zib stared down into the abyss for a moment. </p><p> </p><p>Well. Looked like he had to go into town now. Zib made his way back inside, wincing all the while. All his work yesterday came at a price, though he was quite happy to suffer some aches if it meant that the floor no longer looked… gritty. </p><p> </p><p>He’d had enough of grimy floors. </p><p> </p><p>As Zib sat down, letting his energy recover, the anxiety of encountering other people buzzed beneath his skin, tremors that refused to let up.  </p><p> </p><p>What if he just… tried to make a rope? Or water? He could, in theory. Certainly would be easier than cursing his brother forever. Zib looked at his hands, at the once swollen veins that now carved dark paths along his skin. He felt powerless, and he hated it. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe just a cloak then, just plain fabric. It wouldn’t take too much to make one of the spare blankets into something usable. Then he could go into town. Simple, easy. Thankfully, there was just one moth bitten piece of cloth to work with, some spare coins falling out as well. </p><p> </p><p>Zib concentrated on what he needed, a dark cloak, green not black. Full length, ideally not full of holes. For a brief second, euphoria coursed through Zib, the aches gone. But it was, like so many things in his life, a temporary happiness.</p><p> </p><p>Shooting pain ran up Zib’s arm, cutting the pleasant rush of power off with a cry. </p><p> </p><p>Opening his eyes and blinking the tears away, he felt somewhat relieved to see a cloak, still with some holes, where the blanket once was. He settled it on his shoulders, smiling at the weight, the anonymity it afforded him. Now, now he could do this. </p><p> </p><p>Collecting what was left of his nerves, Zib started toward where the smoke drifted lazily in the air, making careful note of every landmark, each distinct tree. The last thing he wanted was to get lost in the woods right after finding shelter. The day’s sun had moved from its apex in the sky, the temperature still pleasant but just slightly colder. Spring, or what he assumed was spring, hadn’t gotten rid of winter in its entirety yet. </p><p> </p><p>Walking along the worn path, the smell of fresh food and produce wafted through the air, mixed with the scent of livestock and smoke drew him ever closer to civilization. One thing that Zib hadn’t exactly considered about actually <em> finding </em> the village near him, something he’d never thought he’d need to consider ever, was seeing people again. In the palace, there’d always been a constant bustle of maids, footmen, dignitaries, other nobles, and he’d lived and breathed as a part of that system. He prided himself on always being able to carry on a conversation, charming and commanding as needed. </p><p> </p><p>Now, as distant chatter grew closer, and new faces turned to look at him, he felt woefully, pathetically out of his depth. </p><p> </p><p>What good was a silver tongue once it’s been tarnished?</p><p> </p><p>A jostle shook him out of his reverie, almost sending him tumbling to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, don’t stand in the middle of the road! Are you stupid?!”</p><p> </p><p>“How dare-” </p><p> </p><p>Zib bit his lip, suppressing the urge to denigrate the man who’d bumped into him. This was a stranger, and he was a stranger. Not a prince. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry. Pardon me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Mmm.” </p><p> </p><p>There was no further acknowledgement, and the braids around his head felt looser for the interruption. Nervously, he felt for them, letting out a small sigh when the tie held strong. He was fine. It was fine. He was fine. </p><p> </p><p>The buzz of life, children running and laughing, animals squawking and braying, the clink of coins, it was so much- so much more than he was expecting. Holding the cloak close, Zib tried to focus on getting a lay of the shops. </p><p> </p><p>Signs in familiar shapes hung from the sides of the buildings, a loaf of bread, a horseshoe, an anvil, spread amongst houses of varying size. He peeked inside each business, finding no one inside the smithery, just a purple towel draped across a chair, the other locations though were relatively busy. </p><p> </p><p>Every few minutes, Zib could swear his braid felt like they were coming loose, agitated hands nervously checking and adjusting them just to find that they hadn’t shifted in the least. It gave him something to do, even if it wasn’t much. Scanning around once again, Zib spotted a coil of rope in the window of a shop, just what he needed. </p><p> </p><p>The sound of clanking armor sent Zib’s heart back into his throat, causing him to choke on his spit. Out of the corner of his eye, a guard, not one he recognized but from the castle all the same. Zib pressed the worst of the panic down, readying himself to flee if the man in the armor so much as glanced in his direction. He darted into the store as fast as he could, chest heaving.</p><p> </p><p>Causing a scene would be bad. He couldn’t fight before, he certainly wasn’t in a state to do it now, and the odds of him finding another place to hide were slim to none. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t like the guards much do ya?”</p><p> </p><p>Zib’s focus snapped to the woman at the counter, blood draining from his face.</p><p> </p><p>“W-what gave you t-that impression?”</p><p> </p><p>The woman chuckled, giving a knowing look.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t blame you, not many people here do. They mean well but they just don’t do anything for us. Always delivering bad news, when they tell us anything at all. Sometimes they just leave the decrees even though none of us can read.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait- what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah, they think they’re doing us a favor but what good do they do us? Give us a fancy piece of parchment once every few months and some nonsense about the royal family. Like that does us any good.”</p><p> </p><p>“They don’t tell you what’s in the decrees all of the time? That… feels like it’d be important.”</p><p> </p><p>“You really would think wouldn’t you? The least they could do is stay in town and spend some coin here. But it is what it is. More guards only come if some new tax hike was in the letter.”</p><p> </p><p>Gears clicked into place, and Zib hesitantly cleared his throat. This could work. Maybe. </p><p> </p><p>“Well… I could read them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p> </p><p>“I- well- I just- I came from the capital, near the capital, wanted to start over and what not, but I learned to read and write. I don’t have many other skills but I have that.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re a strange one huh. Why would anyone want to move all the way out here?”</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t help the involuntary wince and sharp intake of breath, “Family issues.”</p><p> </p><p>“HAH, that’ll do it. Well, I’d talk to the town elder, he makes sure everything runs smoothly around here. If you’re telling the truth, it’d be a real boon to us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, yes, thank you,” an older man shouted at the guard in the distance, the pair bickering as the crowd scattered, “Is that him?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, unfortunately he's out of town at the moment. That's... well. That's the 'second in command'. He's a bit senile but he picks up the slack while he's away.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for all the help, truly. Ah- um, how much for this...”</p><p> </p><p>Zib held up the rope, “The well- it snapped and water is necessary to live, I don’t really have much to pay for it though.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure I can cut you a deal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh-what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well if you’re sticking around, no sense in not trying to lend a hand. What was your name again?”</p><p> </p><p>Name- gods above heaven needed a name! Any name- what was he supposed to go by? Before he could actually bolster enough rational thought to come up with a half decent name, he’d already opened his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“Z-Ziv, it’s Ziv.”</p><p> </p><p>For fucks sake. </p><p> </p><p>“See you around then, Ziv.” </p><p> </p><p>For half of a second, he wanted to laugh at the fact that worked. Zib however was not going to push his luck today, and walked out, handing her the few coins he had before he left. The weight of the rope heavy at his side. Ziv, that’s who he was now huh? Given how small this town was word would spread quickly of a complete stranger coming into town. Who was Ziv exactly, he wondered. The novelty of being his own person, entirely separate from the palace, it was freeing. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe now he was the son of a merchant, one who wanted out of his old life and fled his family. He learned to read from manuscripts and inventory, yearning to be a writer instead of being forced into a life he didn’t want. A fabrication constructed from whole-cloth, lies built on half-truths. </p><p> </p><p>Zib could work with that. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had to do so much fucking research (three google searches) to get this idiot out of the house. Who knew what peasant settlements looked like? Not me I'll tell you that. But hey! This idiot managed to stumble into some semblance of productivity! Good for him. </p><p>He's also an idiot with 0 plan so...</p><p>Again, apologies for the long stretch in between updates. There are... way more logistics to getting Zib set up than I anticipated and he tends to be the most finicky of all the characters to write. And it's literally all about him. Not a winning combo. Little bastard. But! But but I do have more set for after this next chapter so the delays won't be as long! So that's good! Anywho, thanks for sticking with me!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. New Responsibilities and New Companions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As it turns out, a cabin in the woods is not the most secure location. Probably should've invested in a lock.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zib never thought that paperwork of all things would be this difficult. </p><p> </p><p>Even the most tedious of work he’d done as a prince, and there had been a good deal of it, was nothing compared to the unorganized mess that he was faced with in the month since taking to the roll of unofficial scribe. Stacks upon stacks, of decrees, requests, letters, all thrown together with absolutely no rhyme or reason. </p><p> </p><p>It’d taken a solid week to just <em> sort </em> everything into slightly reasonable piles let alone actually read through the contents and sign any of it. Assistance from the ‘elder’ or whoever ran this village would’ve helped, but their schedules appeared to run completely counter to each other. Leaving Zib to flounder. Given that the elder’s occupation was a blacksmith, and only some of his business was out of the town, his constant absence during off hours made little sense.</p><p> </p><p>Well, at least until he heard about the myriad of jobs he always seemed to be doing at all other times of the day. Everything from home repair to trades. It was no wonder the papers were the way they were. How do you find someone to help when you’re doing the work of half the town?</p><p> </p><p>Zib had to admit though, this was something to do, something to focus on. He was being useful, productive even. Better in the town. If a few notifications about a certain prince went unremarked upon when he reported the contents here and there… that was fine. </p><p> </p><p>It was far less pressing than the various land ordinances and changes to laws and taxes. Better to keep the more important updates. </p><p> </p><p>Zib cracked his back, letting out a sigh. </p><p> </p><p>At times he wanted some assistance, someone else to get through the years of unfiled declarations with, but how much would that really help in the long run? He got paid though, and that was what mattered in the end. Zib had clothes, proper clothes now, a stock of food, he’d even managed to acquire some other items for the house. Blankets were a luxury he’d gone too long without. </p><p> </p><p>And in and of itself, the village welcomed him with open arms, the girl who worked the counter at the general store, who he learned was named Zita, took one look at him and decided to help him get back on his feet. These complete strangers were willing to go out of their way to offer the occasional loaf of bread, or spare clothes, because he what. Needed it? </p><p> </p><p>The least he could do is make himself helpful where he could in return. If only to not be a burden, but to prevent too many questions as well. </p><p> </p><p>Taking a look outside, the lengthening shadows let Zib know that it was time to go back home. Back to the cabin. His… home. Or house. Home was a bit of an overstatement, it was where he lived now, not much else. And having a ‘home’ implied permanence, memories made in a place. </p><p> </p><p>There he went on a mental tangent again, but who was he going to tell any of this to? No one, that’s who. </p><p> </p><p>Locking the archive room, Zib looked around the village, at the stalls full of vegetables and hand-made wares. Children running around and playing in the streets. Some of the vendors gave him a wave as he walked past, casually greeting him before going back to their work. </p><p> </p><p>He rarely gave any acknowledgement more than a half hearted wave, afraid of letting details slip in casual conversation. Still it was better than the first few weeks where he’d avoided all eye contact at any cost, skulking around the town like the escaped criminal he was. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing more suspicious than that. </p><p> </p><p>The path out of town winded through the woods, birds chirping, small animals darting in and out of the brush, it was picturesque, peaceful. Well, mostly peaceful. The solace was occasionally punctuated by the mosquitoes taking small bites at him. He appreciated the routine that he’d built, and if he could stay like this, with this life, he’d be alright. </p><p> </p><p>Wait.</p><p> </p><p>Why was the door cracked open? </p><p> </p><p>Zib stood for a moment on the path paralyzed with fear. He never left the door open, always making sure to keep the battered thing as secure as possible, just in case. In case of what he wasn’t sure but just in case. Clearly it hadn’t done much though. Quickly scanning the surroundings, he spotted no horses. No prints either. Or large groups of prints that he could spot at a glance.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was some wild raccoon, and he just had to deal with a possibly rabid animal in his house. That was fine. More manageable than Gaz. Preferable really. He whispered a soft wish to the wind. </p><p> </p><p>“Please just let this be a creature.” </p><p> </p><p>Zib crept close, gently grabbing the hoe he’d carelessly left out for a makeshift weapon. Deep breaths brought his panic down to a reasonable level, and he swung open the door. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing. </p><p> </p><p>Suspicion raised, he continued through the house, checking and listening for any further movement. It was silent, which didn’t alleviate any of his fears. A few more minutes dragged on, with Zib moving around, careful to try and avoid the creakiest of the floorboards. Ok, maybe there… wasn’t anyone here. He probably just needed to get the door fixed. Or buy a lock. The tension drained out of his body as he rubbed at the headache building behind his eyes. Chalk that up as another win for paranoia. </p><p> </p><p>“-said he wouldn’t be back-”</p><p><br/><br/>“Shhhh!” </p><p> </p><p>Or not. </p><p> </p><p>“Who’s there? Just come out-” </p><p> </p><p>Zib stopped talking almost immediately. What was he going to do? What the <em> fuck </em> was he going to do? He was holding a worn down hoe and was a half decent swordfighter before he’d spent months in prison. What was he going to attempt here? </p><p> </p><p>“-hould we do it?”</p><p> </p><p>There was the voice again, feminine maybe? Definitely young. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> No-”  </em></p><p> </p><p>A more masculine voice, also young. Was he… was he getting robbed? By children? </p><p> </p><p>Turning a corner his question was answered. He was, in fact, getting robbed by children. A boy and a girl, no older than 10. They stared up at him as he tried to process what was happening. In their hands was a small bag, filled to the brim with food and other assorted supplies. </p><p> </p><p>“Uhh… hello?”</p><p><br/><br/>“KIT RUN!” </p><p> </p><p>Before Zib could move to stop the two, they darted out and around him, escaping through the door. How they could move that quickly with that much food would be impressive if it wasn’t all the food Zib had on hand. No doubt they’d taken his money as well, leaving him with nothing but his shelter. The thought of enduring more pangs of hunger clawing at his stomach did not appeal in the slightest. </p><p> </p><p>The fleeing blond and ravenette ducked into the woods, just slightly to the side of the path toward town. The sound of cracking branches and yelled whispers always slightly ahead of him. Zib was sure that, in a few years, maybe more, he’d look back on this moment and laugh. He was chasing two children through the woods with an old hoe after they’d stolen what ultimately amounted to a few loaves of bread and some cheese.  </p><p> </p><p>What a life he led now. </p><p> </p><p>Zib’s lungs burned and his limbs ached slightly, still not any closer to catching the thieves. He’d need a small miracle to catch them now. </p><p> </p><p>Or a guard. </p><p> </p><p>That worked too. </p><p> </p><p>“Well well, what do we have here?”</p><p> </p><p>Oh gods, not him. Of the handful of guards that would visit the town, Chunk was his least favorite by far. What sort of a name was ‘Chunk’ anyway. Did his parents expect him to be a meatheaded guard as a profession? </p><p> </p><p>It reminded him of a term, what was it again? Nominal determination? Like how he was second best to Dib and his name was Dib with a letter changed. </p><p> </p><p>Right. Chunk. </p><p> </p><p>He was nothing but a nuisance at best and a bully at worst, demanding high payments for the ‘services’ he performed around town. He wished so dearly he could write to Gaz and let her tear into him, but alas he could not. The most he could do was make the townsfolk aware of his… price gouging. </p><p> </p><p>“Looks like the local nuisances showed their little faces again. What do you have there?”</p><p> </p><p>“...none of your business.” </p><p> </p><p>The smug grin made Zib’s skin crawl. The way the kids moved back even more so. Guilt twisting in his stomach. Now that he had a clear look at them, they looked dirty. And hungry. Why did he care? They stole, and thieves should be punished. </p><p> </p><p>Then again, he should by all means be enduring his punishment right now, and yet here he was. Who was he to pass judgement? </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think anyone would <em> care </em> enough to give you that out of the kindness of their hearts, who’d want to help you? Now be good and hand it over or I can find a room for you. You’ll love it, it’s nice and cold and wet, and if you’re lucky you’ll never have to leave.” </p><p> </p><p>All three of them paled, Zib more so. Hazy memories of long days spent with little to no food, the feverish nights when the inevitable sickness took hold, the time blending together in an endless loop. He couldn’t- no not these- these <em> children </em>- </p><p> </p><p>“Now what are you two doing? I told you not to run off, not without your father.” </p><p> </p><p>Oh gods what was he doing. </p><p> </p><p>Excellent work Zib, truly outdoing yourself in terms of good decision making. Well, no going back now. He’d verbally dug this hole for himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Huh-”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-” </p><p> </p><p>Zib walked in between Chunk and his victims, turning and trying to get them to play along. Kit nodded, looking at her partner and giving him a nudge.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah Junior I told you this was a bad idea. Dad wouldn’t like us pretending to run away, now look where we are.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy, Junior, frowned, huffing. He set the bag down and stomped his foot, looking every inch a bratty child. </p><p> </p><p>“No if I remember this was <em> your </em> idea!”</p><p> </p><p>“Was not!” </p><p> </p><p>“Was too!” </p><p> </p><p>Chunk eyed Zib with suspicion, though it was a lazy suspicion. </p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t know these were yours Ziv. Didn’t know you even had kids.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, reorganizing the archives is busy work you know, and I prefer my privacy as well. I don’t spend as much time at home as I’d like, so I haven’t been able to come to town with them. Apologies if they’ve given you trouble.” </p><p> </p><p>He got a half hearted grunt in return before Chunk walked away, likely looking for his next easy target. </p><p> </p><p>Zib let out the breath he’d held since the guard appeared, letting his shoulders sag. That was unreasonably close and incredibly unpleasant. Par for the course when it came to the guards that came through but still a major irritant. </p><p> </p><p>They weren’t around enough to call him on his bluff, so points for general incompetence. He turned to look at the kids, putting on a stern expression. The confused gratitude was quick to soften him, just a little.</p><p><br/><br/>“Why did you… do that?” </p><p> </p><p>“Jail’s no place for a kid. I’m not that needlessly cruel.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well don’t think we’ll thank you or anything,” Junior turned up his nose, looking almost like an Irken prince he once knew, “We could’ve gotten away. We chose not to.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sure, sure.” </p><p> </p><p>Zib stuck out an expectant hand, trying to channel the countenance of his father. Demanding, firm, but not cruel. He probably just looked like an ass though. Whatever helped him get his food and money back... </p><p> </p><p>“Alright you two, this has been- well. A long day for me, if you could go back to your parents now, or wherever you came from I would appreciate it. I can spare you some food too if you need it.” </p><p> </p><p>“Can’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean ‘can’t’?” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t have ‘em, parents I mean,” Kit crossed her arms.</p><p> </p><p>So they <em> were </em> on their own. That twinge of guilt struck again, more intense this time. Zib thought for a moment about giving them more of the money, he could make up the difference soon enough before stopping that thought in its tracks. These were children, they couldn’t earn money, not enough anyway without a proper apprenticeship. They might have enough for a few nights in the inn, but that wasn’t a long term solution. Not for them. </p><p> </p><p>The house. It was… big enough. It wasn’t his best idea but the seasons would change soon. Kit’s voice continued, heedless of Zib’s dilemma. </p><p> </p><p>“And we needed all the food. For all of us.” </p><p> </p><p>All of them? </p><p> </p><p>“All- all of you? How many... how many of you are there?”</p><p> </p><p>Junior looked Zib up and down,  “More. Why do you want to know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok listen, I want to know what I’m getting into here. Winter is coming soon, if you really have nowhere to stay... I could offer some room.<em> ”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Really?” </p><p> </p><p>The bright excitement on Kit's face wore down the last of Zib's possible defenses. This is what he was doing now. Good going. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not much but-” </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll have to meet the others first.” </p><p> </p><p>“Lead the way then.” </p><p> </p><p>HIs belongings back in his possession, briefly Zib thought about just… going back. He couldn’t handle this, taking care of children of all things. He ruined just about everything he touched given his track record, and attachments like this could spell certain doom. </p><p> </p><p>But no one wanted to help them. No one wanted… them. Like no one wanted him. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t leave. </p><p> </p><p>Zib might have, when he had everything, when it wouldn’t service his goal. </p><p> </p><p>Ziv though, well. Ziv couldn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Although when Kit and Junior ducked into a small alley beside the in, and five new sets of eyes stared back at him, he wanted to kick ‘Ziv’. </p><p> </p><p>The tallest of the others stood up with a jolt, pulling Kit and Junior toward him and moving to a fighting stance. Snarling and holding his one arm out in front of the others. </p><p> </p><p>“Get away! I’m warning you!” </p><p> </p><p>“Gir-”</p><p> </p><p>Gir? Gir. This child’s name was Gir. Gods above what were the odds. </p><p> </p><p>“Gir, no! He’s nice!” </p><p> </p><p>“Nice? Kit we stole from him!” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well he stood up to one of those dumb guards! It was so cool! So we wanted to introduce you guys!” </p><p> </p><p>“Did you really?” Another girl, with darker hair piped up, holding a toddler in her arms. “Well, thank you for helping my siblings. I’d warned them this was a bad idea…” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, it was… nothing. I don’t like the guards that much anyway. Especially not that one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are any of them good?” </p><p>
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  <br/>
</p><p>The group chuckled, some more nervous than others. Zib’s opinion on the guard was more skewed than theirs, although Gaz… Gaz was likely an exception to the rule. </p><p> </p><p>“Now, should we… say our names? Is that a good idea?” </p><p> </p><p>Mem glanced at a boy wearing a hat, his heterochromatic eyes looking… somewhere. Zib couldn’t tell, they looked almost unfocused. He gave a brief nod, before regarding Zib with suspicion. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m Mem, you’ve met Kit, Junior, and Gir-“</p><p> </p><p>“Tch-” </p><p> </p><p>“And this is Suds,” she gestured to a boy in his early teens, dirty brown hair hanging in his face, Yew,” she pointed to the one with the hat, “and this here is Tij. And you are?” </p><p> </p><p>“Ziv. I’m the records keeper here, and well…” </p><p> </p><p>Zib sighed, hands fidgeting with his braids briefly before he forced them by his sides. </p><p> </p><p>“Look, you don’t have anywhere to go, and I… I don’t want to let you starve or anything. I have space, if you want. All I’d ask in return is for some help around the place, it needs some… work.” </p><p> </p><p>Gir rolled his eyes, “Uh huh. Sure. Like we’re supposed to believe that. What’s the catch? You running some sweatshop? Hiding bodies out in the forest? Are you some kind of criminal?” </p><p> </p><p>Ow. Accurate on that last point, but ow. Zib wanted to try and defend himself, but another voice cut him off.</p><p> </p><p>“Gir, we may not get a chance like this again.” </p><p> </p><p>Mem, the other girl in the group, readjusted her brother in her arms before continuing.</p><p> </p><p>“A roof over our heads? When was the last time we had that that <em> wasn’t </em> that dump? Reliable food? A place to sleep that isn't the middle of the woods? It’s our best option.Tij needs it.” </p><p> </p><p>“Plus we could take him if we wanted to,” Kit smiled wide, “We’d have the house for ourselves.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay I wouldn’t go that far, Kit, but you do have a point.” </p><p> </p><p>“...I could take him by myself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Junior, don’t push it.” </p><p> </p><p>The group quieted down, turning to look at Zib. Mem stepped forward, a determined look on her face.</p><p><br/><br/>“Alright, if you’re telling the truth, and you really want to help, we’ll come with. But no funny business!” </p><p> </p><p>The threat was cute, and Zib couldn’t help but laugh. What was he doing? Why on Earth was he doing this? Seven kids? <em> Seven? </em> Did he make enough to make that work? What about beds? Would they even stay with him? Did he want them to stay with him? <em> Why was he doing this? </em></p><p> </p><p>Deep down though, he knew why. </p><p> </p><p>Because he knew what it was like to not be wanted. To have no one and nothing to hold on to. </p><p> </p><p>And as the group looked at his ramshackle house and excitedly ran towards it, some spreading toward the garden, others into the house itself, the questions all faded to background noise. If he could organize the years of paperwork by himself, he could do this. Probably.</p><p> </p><p>Looked like he’d have to keep his braids tied even tighter now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>They've arrived. THEY HAVE ARRIVED! MY KIDS! MY BELOVED SMEETS! Man, ok, we're here. We made it. I can finally start getting through my fucking backlog of fics. Goddamn. This thing fucking ended up way longer than I was anticipating. But of course this idiot managed to saddle himself with 7 kids. Somehow. Hehehe, this will be fun. At least on his bad days now there's someone else to go to the market for food. Lmao</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am so excited to get to this stuff you have no idea I am fucking SHAKING!!!!! I have much planned for the roach, much planned. If only he wasn't such a hermit and would LEAVE THE HOUSE I could get to it. Gotta drag him out like the grouchy cat he is smh...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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